


Eyes of a Predator (Or Five Times Sam Caught T'Challa Watching, and One Time He Invited Him To)

by celtic7irish



Series: MCU Kink Bingo Fills 2017 [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Five-and-One Fic, Get-Together Fic, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 13:59:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13342707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: “So that really is a thing for you, huh?” he asked, amusement creeping through him.  “A King who likes to watch.”Clawed hands reached up and unclasped the helmet, revealing T’challa’s face, cloaked in darkness as it was.  Sam wondered idly if he should turn on a light, but he was pretty sure T’challa didn’t need one to see.  “As a King, it is what I do,” T’challa replied.  “I watch the people, I watch the land, I watch the borders, I watch the world and their politics.  But it is always in a broad sense.  Very rarely do I have the chance to just watch a person who has no expectations for me to protect them or guide them or serve their best interests.  You are strong, Sam Wilson, and do not need a protector.”Sam grinned.  “And so you can just watch,” he teased.





	Eyes of a Predator (Or Five Times Sam Caught T'Challa Watching, and One Time He Invited Him To)

**Author's Note:**

> For the MCU Kink Bingo Square I2: Sam Wilson x T'Challa

**Battle Practice:**

 

“Falcon, watch out!” Captain America called into the coms, his shield nearly skimming Sam’s right wing as it skipped past him and slammed into the drone that had snuck up behind him. Sam twisted, wrenching his wings hard and getting out of the way of the shield’s rebound.

 

“Thanks for the save, Cap!” he called back, chagrined. He wasn’t normally so oblivious, but he kept getting a prickling sensation on the back of the neck, like he was being watched, and it was distracting him.

 

He shot two more of the drones – courtesy of a team of Wakandan engineers who seemed delighted to build drones for them to practice with, and even more gleeful when they managed to destroy them beyond repair – and rose a few more feet, his wings lifting easily to give him more clearance above the battlefield. Stark’s upgrades to the EXO-7 Falcon wings were amazing, and Sam sometimes wished he’d gotten a chance to properly thank the man before all hell had broken loose and he’d been thrown in prison with the rest of Captain America’s ragtag band of followers.

 

“What’s got you all flustered, bird brain?” Clint demanded cheerfully as he picked off drones one by one from his perch in the treetops. One of the drones got too close, and he ran along the branches wide edge before jumping, shooting the drone before snagging another branch and swinging up into a different tree.

 

Lang, who had thus far stayed on the ground – or rather, in it – and therefore out of the fight, suddenly shot up, taller than the trees that surrounded them. He managed to grab two drones in one hand and crush them, before another drone managed to get a clean shot to the back of his head.  Falcon bit back his laugh as Giant Man twisted and fell, shifting back to normal people size to avoid crushing the trees.  A drone followed him, and Sam dove, pulling the drone’s attention towards him and shooting its camera, leaving it to careen drunkenly into a nearby tree.

 

“Like you’re one to talk, _Hawkeye_ ,” Sam snapped back, his feet briefly hitting the ground so he could check on Scott before he was back in the air, wings maneuvering gracefully through the air, Steve’s shield and Clint’s arrows singing through the air around him as they took out a few more drones, his own weapons so loud in comparison.  “But I don’t know.  I’m getting the feeling that I’m being watched.  But I don’t see anyone,” he admitted uneasily, waiting for the laughter.

 

Steve spoke up first, which was just as well. Clint was probably going to crack a smartass joke, and Lang wasn’t much better.  “Is it a threat?” he asked seriously.  And that was Captain America speaking, checking that his teammates weren’t in danger from more than what was right in front of them.

 

Falcon twisted away from three drones that were converging on him, angling downwards. Two of them exploded at his back, and he swore.  “Dammit, Barton!  Could you maybe not use exploding arrows when I’m _right there_?” he asked in exasperation.

 

“Or you could, you know, _fly faster_ ,” Clint retorted with a grin as a combination of Steve’s shield and Sam’s bullets took out the last drone, leaving him to land undisturbed in the wide clearing that served as an arena for battle practice.

 

“It is not a threat,” Wanda reassured them, a red blast of magic shooting from her hands and wrapping around a drone, crushing it easily. “He is merely observing, possibly because we are strangers here and he is curious.”

 

Scott Lang was staring over towards Birnin Zana, the capital city of Wakanda. “I’m pretty sure he’s checking you out, Wilson,” he said, grinning.

 

Sam glared at him. “Who?” he demanded, turning to look as well.  The city was too far away for even Captain America to see, so he had no idea how the hell the bug guy had any insight. 

 

“T’challa,” Scott Lang answered cheerfully.  Then cracked up as Sam launched himself at the other man, wrestling him into a headlock.

 

Still, as they packed up and left, leaving a group of happily chattering engineers to handle the destroyed drones, Sam couldn’t help but peer up at the city. And at the castle that lay in its center.

 

**Food Preparation:**

It was Sam’s night to make dinner in the communal kitchen of the suite that T’challa had given them for the duration of their stay. Steve was down in the labs with Bucky, watching over his cryogenically frozen best friend.  Lang was…probably trying to pick up one of their Wakandan guards.  Undoubtedly, he’d be home in a bit with a new bruise to show off and a story to tell; the women around here didn’t mess around, and Ant-Man’s dubious charms were completely ineffective.  That didn’t stop the man from trying, though.  Wanda was probably at the library; she enjoyed reading almost as much as she enjoyed her solitude.

 

So that left Sam in charge of making sure everybody actually got fed. Clint had offered to help, but the archer was more of a disaster in the kitchen than a five-year-old, and Sam had firmly declined.  Clint had just grinned knowingly and then wandered off somewhere, probably to one of the several ranges on the palace grounds.

 

Sam should have been alone, which is why he was so surprised when he turned around, still humming and swaying his hips to the song stuck in his head, to realize that he was being watched. To his embarrassment, he nearly fumbled the pan of lasagna he’d been carrying over to the oven.  Strong hands slid under his own, balancing the tray, and Sam glanced up into the dark, somber eyes of the King of Wakanda.

 

“I apologize, Sam Wilson,” T’challa murmured, his deeper drawl sending a shiver down Sam’s spine. “It was not my intention to startle you.”

 

Sam just sighed, pulling back a bit. T’challa let him go, and he walked over to the oven, feeling the other man’s eyes on him as he bent to put the tray in the oven to cook.  “It’s fine, your highness,” he said.  “I just wasn’t expecting anybody else to be here.”  He straightened up, glanced back at T’challa, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, and sighed again.  “Have a seat, man,” he suggested.  “Do you need the others? They’re kinda scattered, but they’ll be here for dinner, if you want to wait.”

 

T’challa shook his head, even as he settled in one of the chairs at the table. “No, I had not meant to disturb anybody,” he said.  “I simply smelled something unfamiliar and came to investigate.  I apologize for startling you.”

 

Sam looked over at T’challa consideringly. The King met his eyes, and Sam grinned. “What? You’ve never had lasagna before?” he asked.

 

T’challa shook his head. “Meals are prepared by the palace chefs,” he admitted softly, “and are made with native ingredients.”

 

Sam laughed. “Well, if you’re going to stick around for dinner, you can help me with the salad so I can prepare the bread rolls.” And maybe T’challa would stop staring at him if he was busy chopping vegetables.

 

T’challa blinked, looking suddenly unsure. “I….do not know how to cook,” he admitted.

 

Sam laughed, delighted. “Not even toast, man?” he teased.  T’challa shook his head, and Sam grinned.  “Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to teach you.  Can’t have a King that can’t fend for himself,” he joked.

 

T’challa seemed to consider that for a moment, then stood up and walked over to the counter. “Show me,” he commanded.

 

Sam nodded. “All right,” he agreed easily.  And if showing T’challa how to properly prepare a salad required a little more touching than usual, well, that was nobody’s business but theirs.

**Running/Gym:**

Sam was out for a morning jog – without Steve “on your left” Rogers, thank you very much – when he felt he was being watched. This was the third day in a row.  He was coming up on the three-quarter mark of his usual path, his shirt sticking to his skin and a light sheen of sweat covering him from head to toe, and he slowed to an easy lope as he looked around.

 

And just like on the previous days, he saw no one around. The path he took was usually pretty deserted, as it went more or less in a giant circle, which accomplished absolutely nothing.  He’d asked about it, back when he’d first discovered it, and been informed that at one time, the circular road was actually more of a dirt path, utilized by wild cattle and the like, as it moved in a roughly circular pattern around food and water sources.  Now, though, it was pretty much just a scenic tour around the area, where there were plenty of trees with colorful leaves and numerous statues and fountains celebrating Wakanda’s long and prosperous history.

 

It was, however, perfect for a morning run if a person didn’t want to get lost, and most of his teammates used the path when they had time. With the exception of Scott Lang, who pointed out that most of his fighting was done while he was ant-size, and he very much preferred to do his running with the ants.  Sam thought that was creepy, but to each his own, he supposed.

 

A final look around, and Sam picked up the pace again, heading into the tree-lined lane that would then sweep around a large pond (or maybe it was a small lake?) and back to the palace, doing his best to ignore the creeping sensation of eyes on his back. He was probably just imagining things.  Since their arrival in Wakanda, nobody had bothered them.  If they needed anything, they spoke to one of the palace's many staff members, or to King T’challa himself.  The general population often regarded them with suspicion, but none of them had given any indication that they meant to cause them any harm.

 

He finished his jog a bit quicker than usual, not taking time to slow down to admire the family of swans that inhabited the pond by the palace. As he approached the castle walls, he finally allowed himself to take a moment to breathe, slowing down to a moderate walk to give himself time to get his breathing under control before he went inside and attracted unwanted attention.  Clint, especially, seemed to have an uncanny ability to tell when one of his teammates was rattled.  He was a lot cleverer than people gave him credit for.

 

Slipping into a side entrance that would directly to the wing he was staying in while here in Wakanda, Sam failed to notice the silver eyes watching him from the shadows of the palace doorways.

 

Once Sam had disappeared from view, T’challa, too, moved away. He had duties to attend, after all.

 

 

**Public Baths:**

Sam sighed as he sunk down into the heated water in the royal bath chambers. For all that Wakanda was more technologically and scientifically advanced that most first world countries, they did enjoy some of the simpler pleasures.  The baths were built directly into a large stone basin, the stones heated and keeping the water at a comfortably warm temperature.  Sam didn’t know if they were heated by underground sources, or by some sort of technology, but it didn’t matter.  It was like sinking into a hot tub, and he moaned with pleasure as he sunk neck deep into the hot water, the steam rising around him in thin, pale tendrils.

 

“Oh, god. I really need to come down here more often,” he mumbled out loud, his muscles relaxing under the heat.  There was a shower in each of their rooms, which was what Sam usually used, but right now the suite was filled with moping super soldier and a bored archer, so Sam decided the royal bathhouses would be safer.  T’challa had shown them where they were shortly after their arrival in Wakanda, and Sam could only mourn that he hadn’t taken advantage of the hospitable offer sooner.

 

He luxuriated in the water for a while before deigning to move far enough to gather some of the scented lotions from the woven basket he’d been handed upon entering. Opening several of the glass vials, he sniffed at them curiously, finding most of them quite pleasing.  He picked the one that was labeled as Sage and Lemongrass and poured it into the water.  The scent rose around him, and he grinned with delight. 

 

“I’ve definitely got to get me some of this,” he said to himself, whistling cheerfully as he set about scrubbing himself with one of the bottles labeled as body wash. The smooth stones in the basin were pretty comfortable, actually, and the water was hot and fragrant, and Sam felt cleaner than he had since before being imprisoned in the Raft.

 

He was debating whether he really wanted to put in the effort to climb out of the water when he heard the soft brush of footsteps over stone. Opening his eyes, he peered up at T’challa, who was regarding him silently.  “I apologize for disturbing your rest,” the King murmured, “but I am glad to see that you have taken advantage of the royal baths.  Perhaps you can convince your Captain to relax a bit while he is here.”

 

Sam chuckled, sitting up straighter, glad for the steam that rose around them and covered anything below the water’s surface. Relaxing a bit, Sam realized that T’challa was dressed only in a pair of thin, loose pants that hung low on his hips and cinched at his ankles.  He was also carrying a woven basket similar to the one that Sam had been given, though a bit more elaborate, with a large black panther depicted on it in jewels.         

 

“Oh! I’m sorry,” he apologized, glad that his darker skin hid the blush he could feel heating up his face. “I’m keeping you from your bath, aren’t I?”  He looked around a bit helplessly; he wasn’t exactly shy, proud of his body and the work he put into it, but he didn’t know if it would be considered rude to bare himself (quite literally) to the King of Wakanda.

 

A deep rumble of a chuckle tugged at something low in Sam’s belly. “You are fine where you are,” T’challa reassured him.  “I oftentimes come here when I wish to be away from my guards and advisors for a while,” he admitted with a small smile, sharing a secret.  “But to be honest, I would welcome the company.  Though if you are finished, I will not keep you.”

 

Sam smiled. “Hey, man, this water never seems to get cold, so I’m cool with staying for a bit longer.”  He lifted his hands up, showing his palms to the other man.  “It’s not like I can get any prunier,” he joked, pleased when T’challa smiled back at him.  He shifted in the water.  “This tub’s big enough to share,” he offered politely.

 

T’challa considered for only a brief moment before nodding. Sam politely turned his back while T’challa removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the water.  Stretching, he lifted his arms out of the water and set them on the edge of the basin, slouching a bit deeper in the water, then smiled awkwardly over at his companion.

 

T’challa grinned back.

**Bedtime:**

Sam groaned in frustration, spread-eagled on the bed and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Exactly as he’d been doing for the past three hours.  He was exhausted, tired beyond belief, and yet, he couldn’t sleep.  It was driving him to distraction.

 

Twisting around, he turned over onto his side, but that just left him staring at the wall instead, which was far less interesting than the ceiling. “You need to get some sleep, man,” he muttered to himself.  Cap was planning to take them camping out in the Wakandan jungle over the next couple of days, where they’d be living off the land or whatever other crap the man was spouting.  Sam had only agreed because camping meant that Steve wouldn’t be sitting by his best friend’s cryo tube, moping.  Besides, he’d enjoyed camping as a boy, so this should be fine. As long as the jungle animals stayed far, far away.

 

Which meant that tonight was his last night in an actual bed for a while. _And he couldn’t sleep_. 

 

And the most frustrating part was that he knew why. They’d been here for three months, and in that time, he hadn’t gotten laid once.  Heck, he hadn’t even taken care of himself.  At first, he was too grateful to be alive and free – or as free as they could be, on the run from multiple governments and the Sokovian Accords themselves.  And then, it had just never seemed like a good time. Or place.  He was in the palace of a king, after all.  Lavish rooms and huge, soft beds.  And guards patrolling the hallways.

 

With an aggrieved sigh, Sam gave in, letting his hand slide into his sleep pants. There was no need to tease; just a quick release and he would hopefully be tired enough to get some sleep.

 

Of course, he really should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy, because the moment he closed his eyes, he felt a prickling sensation shiver up his spine. In his mind, he saw dark, somber eyes and heard a smooth, cultured voice. “Dammit,” he muttered, his other hand sliding upwards to brush along his stomach and chest and the dip in his throat. Light, teasing touches that made him shiver, sinking further into the soft bedding.

 

Turning over onto his back, Sam gripped himself more firmly, enjoying the slightly rough rub of dry friction and allowing his mind to wander. Broad hands; a lean, muscular body; long legs and a limber spine that twisted like a cat’s.  He didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t seeing a very specific person behind closed lids.  T’challa was intelligent and strong and compassionate; all the best that humanity had to offer.  He was gorgeous, too, with his striking features and royal demeanor.

 

Sam groaned out loud, keeping his movements slow and careful, more teasing than anything. The hand on his throat caressed back down his chest to tease a nipple, raising goosebumps.  His hand tightened on his cock, and he bit off a choked moan, twisting his hand and using the first slide of precum to help smooth the way a little.  His back arched upwards, thrusting into his fist, and he huffed out a harsh breath, his other hand pinching roughly at first one nipple, then the other, nails scratching lightly down his chest, gentler and less sharp than the claws he was picturing stroking down his chest and back, leaving shallow marks wherever they went.

 

 A jagged, guttural growl seemed to echo around the room, and Sam echoed it, letting his hands wander where they pleased, across his abdomen and down below his cock to toy with his balls, his breath catching on a whimper.  “C’mon,” he murmured, writhing at his own touch, his hand tightening even further, almost painful where it gripped his cock, his movements less controlled, erratic.  He had known it wouldn’t take long, given how frustrated he’d been lately, but his orgasm still caught him by surprise, cresting over him as he opened his eyes and caught movement out of the corner of his eyes.

 

Turning his head, the shock and the pleasure crashed into him almost overwhelmingly, and Sam came, staring into gleaming silver eyes. “Oh, god,” he panted, shuddering through the aftermath.  He was pretty sure he should be embarrassed, seeing T’challa watching him in complete silence, but he was sated and relaxed and had just been picturing the guy getting him off, so he supposed he could be embarrassed later. 

 

“You just gonna stand there?” Sam asked wearily, his body finally relaxing as the other man approached, silent and lethal.

 

T’challa stopped right next to the bed and stared down at him through the eyes of the Black Panther. “I was unsure if you would welcome my attentions,” T’challa admitted, his deep voice rumbling through Sam and sending a frission of excitement through him. 

 

“So you really have been watching me,” he finally managed, his tone rueful. “I thought I was imagining it.”

 

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” T’challa asked softly, curiously.

 

Sam snorted. “You’ve been watching me since we got here,” he pointed out.  “If I had a problem with it, I would have said something.”  His assertion was met with silence, and he huffed, grimacing as his release cooled on his skin.  “Ugh, I need a shower,” he muttered.

 

T’challa’s voice was distinctly amused when he offered, “You are welcome to use the royal baths again, if you’d like.”

 

Sam grinned. “Shower’s closer,” he pointed out.

 

T’challa tipped his head, conceding the point, and Sam sat up, turning to swing his legs off the bed. “But it is more difficult to watch in the shower, don’t you think?” T’challa suggested.  Sam was glad he was sitting down still, because he was pretty sure his legs would’ve given out.

 

“So that really is a thing for you, huh?” he asked, amusement creeping through him. “A King who likes to watch.”

 

Clawed hands reached up and unclasped the helmet, revealing T’challa’s face, cloaked in darkness as it was. Sam wondered idly if he should turn on a light, but he was pretty sure T’challa didn’t need one to see.  “As a King, it is what I do,” T’challa replied.  “I watch the people, I watch the land, I watch the borders, I watch the world and their politics.  But it is always in a broad sense.  Very rarely do I have the chance to just watch a person who has no expectations for me to protect them or guide them or serve their best interests.  You are strong, Sam Wilson, and do not need a protector.”

 

Sam grinned. “And so you can just watch,” he teased.  Standing up, he let the covers slide off his hips and held out his hand expectantly.  “Fine, then,” he laughed.  “Baths it is.”

**Invitation:**

Sam groaned tiredly, staggering into the palace after two weeks of roughing it in Wakanda’s overgrown wilderness of a jungle. He was hot and tired, and he ached all over.  And he was really sick and tired of taking baths in cold streams.  He wanted a hot shower, proper food, and about twenty-four hours of sleep.

 

“Survival training did not go well?” Sam jumped at the unexpected presence in his room.  He turned his head and glared at the man standing in the corner. 

 

“You could say that,” he grumbled. “Seriously, Steve got bitten by a snake.  A _snake_!  He’s lucky it wasn’t poisonous.”  Sam had already been fed up by that point.  And that was only three days in.  Clint had thought the whole thing was hilarious, and laughed even as he had shot the snake so they could determine if it was poisonous or not, and Wanda had just sighed and told their sheepish Captain to be more careful.                                                          

 

T’challa chuckled. “Ah, yes, it would seem that the rumors about the Captain are true, then.  That trouble finds him wherever he goes.”

 

Sam snorted. “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed, his words cutting off in a wide yawn.

 

“And now I must apologize,” T’challa murmured regretfully. “I had not meant to keep you from your slumber, only to ensure that you made it back safely.”  But there was an odd tone in his voice, and Sam blinked slowly, trying to bring his brain online enough to figure it out.  He glanced over at the man standing in the corner, looking as composed as ever, but there was a nervousness in the way he held himself that Sam wasn’t used to seeing.

 

“What’s up, T’challa?” he asked, turning around and walking towards the other man. “You look like you want to ask something, and I’m too tired to play twenty questions.  So spit it out,” he suggested, stopping right in front of the other man.  Watching those dark eyes watching him, he felt a tremor shiver its way up his spine, his breath catching.  Already, his body was responding, pushing away the exhaustion in favor of adrenaline and arousal.

 

T’challa blinked. “I had wished to provide you with a surprise to welcome you home,” he said softly, almost tentatively.  “Had I realized the duration of your training, or how exhausted you would be upon your return, I would have waited until tomorrow, at least.”

 

Sam grinned; T’challa sounded all about out of patience. Sam supposed that making the guy wait for two weeks right after they’d come to some sort of mutual agreement regarding Sam doing and T’challa watching was plenty enough to drive the other man to distraction.  “What did you have in mind?” he asked.  “I’m too tired to be up for much, but definitely awake enough for something.”  He gave T’challa his best seductive grin, which he must have failed at, because the other man just choked out a laugh, grinning widely down at him.

 

“There is a room just down the hall,” T’challa suggested. “I had hoped that perhaps you would be willing to take your rest there tonight?”  The question was a bit tentative, but there was anticipation there, too, and Sam considered for a moment, then shrugged.

 

“Sure, why not?” he agreed, nodding. “I mean, how often does one have the undivided attention of a king?” he asked, then paused, glancing up at the other man.  “Actually,” he hesitated for a moment, then plowed ahead, “how do you feel about wearing your uniform?” he asked.

 

T’challa’s eyes lifted in surprise. “The Black Panther?” he clarified.  Sam nodded, his face heating as he flushed in arousal and embarrassment both.  T’challa was strong and gorgeous, yes, but there was something almost _feral_ about him when he was dressed as the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda.  Sam hung around with superheroes on a daily basis, but the thrill that he got when surrounded by people who could take him down in an instant hadn’t faded in the slightest.  He hadn’t been chosen for the EXO-7 Falcon paratrooper team because he liked to play it safe.

 

T’challa’s answering smirk was sly and full of heat. “If that is what you wish,” he acquiesced, and Sam bit back a groan.  Holy shit.  “Please, come this way,” T’challa offered, one hand gesturing towards the door and the other pushing Sam forward merely by its presence – he wasn’t actually touching Sam, just sort of herding him with the force of his desire, and Sam was helpless to stop him.  It was unlike anything he’d experienced before, and he allowed himself to be guided on shaky legs to a room three doors down from his own.  It was further away from the rest of the team, but Sam was pretty sure that was just happenstance, and not planned – the rooms were pretty soundproof, he’d found.

 

The room was completely dark when he entered, only the light spilling from the hallway illuminating a thin path that led straight to the bed, which was on a raised dais with five stairs leading up to it. The light brushed the skirted edge, and Sam paused.  This room felt different.  Not just larger, but…different.  “Please,” T’challa murmured, and Sam obligingly made his careful way to the bed, stopping at its edge for just a moment and glancing back at T’challa before crawling onto the bed, settling himself in the center of it.

 

“I will return shortly,” T’challa told him, and Sam’s breath stuck in his throat. He was actually going to do it; T’challa was going to put on the Black Panther uniform.  “Please, make yourself comfortable.”  T’challa started to close the door behind them, then paused.  “I am aware that you are exhausted.  Should you fall asleep before I return, please be assured that I will not be offended.”

 

That startled a laugh out of Sam, and he relaxed into the mattress. “Then don’t keep me waiting,” he suggested slyly.  The door snapped shut hurriedly, and Sam grinned into the darkness.  “Like I’m going to be able to sleep now,” he chuckled, anticipation swirling hot in his belly.

 

He decided that he might as well get comfortable while he waited, so Sam shimmed out of his jeans and kicked them to the floor, then shrugged off his t-shirt, glad that he’d taken a bath that morning, as cold and unpleasant as it had been. He’d still like a hot shower, but at least he wasn’t completely gross right now.

 

Before he had time to really start worrying, or second-guessing himself, there was a tap at the door. A moment later, it opened, and Sam caught sight of a feline silhouette before the room was enclosed in darkness once more.  He felt more than heard T’challa approach him.

 

“Do you need a light or something?” he asked wryly. “Or can you see just fine?”

 

Silver eyes lit up, startling Sam. “I can see perfectly fine,” T’challa assured him.  “However, this particular room is not meant to remain in darkness,” he added, practically purring the words.  Sam shuddered, his skin alighting under the possessive, satisfied tones.

 

Resisting the urge to roll over towards the other man and beg for his touch, Sam managed a hoarse, “Well, then, what’re you waiting for? Turn the lights on.”

 

“As you wish,” T’challa murmured, and the lights rose slowly. Sam blinked, then laughed.  The entire room was covered in mirrors, all of them aimed towards the bed in the room’s center.  It was like a voyeur’s dream room.  Or an exhibitionist’s.

 

Tearing his eyes away from the mirrors, his gaze landed on the only other body in the room, and his breath left him in a harsh punch of air. “That’s…not your usual uniform,” he managed.  Sure, it still covered everything, and was tight and black and probably made of vibranium armor or something, but more than that, it _glowed_.  Sam couldn’t make sense of the pattern of flickering lights, but the Black Panther uniform reminded him, awkwardly enough, of the Iron Man armor when it was charged up, all sharp angles and lethal pulses of light.  The eyes were silver, but the edges were ringed with a bright blue.  The Panther’s claw tips were solid shards of obsidian, very obviously weapons.  The entire uniform screamed of power, and Sam moaned softly, his cock firming up.  Admittedly, he had been half hard just thinking about what he had agreed to, but having the impassive face of the Black Panther staring down at him brought a whole new level of awareness to the fact that he was about to jack himself off in front of another person.

 

“Any requests?” he managed breathlessly.   The other man didn’t reply except to move back towards a chair that was placed towards the side of the bed and take a seat.  Sam huffed a nervous laugh.  “Very literal about just watching, huh?” he muttered.  T’challa tipped his head a bit to the side in acknowledgment, and Sam sighed.  He was used to his lovers taking a slightly more active role in the whole sexy times bit.  Still, he couldn’t deny that the weight of that gaze on him, focused like a predator stalking its prey, made his flesh break out in goosebumps.  He gave a long, ragged sigh, his eyes closing to mere slits as he tossed his head back, pressing it into the pillow so that his throat and upper chest were exposed.  It was animalistic, prey realizing that it had lost, giving in, surrendering to the inevitable.

 

When he’d stripped earlier, he’d left on his boxer briefs, but now he shoved at them impatiently, pushing them down just far enough that he could wrap his hand around his cock with a groan of pleasure and relief. His other hand trailed upwards, over his stomach and chest and throat, fingers slipping into his mouth.

 

There was a soft sound of something hitting the bed next to him, and Sam glanced over to find a small bottle of lube there. “Good idea,” he managed to mumble around his fingers, letting them slide out and trail a damp path across his nipples, shivering as they peaked in the cooler air of the room.  Above him, his reflection stared back at him, flushed and writhing, eyes blown dark and wide and enticing.  Sam had never had any reason to watch himself in the mirror during sex before, and he had the sudden odd thought that this would be so much better with two people, tangled up in the sheets. And in each other.

 

The thought drew a moan from him that he didn’t even try to hide, his grip loosening until he was just teasing himself, his fingers trailing lightly up and down the sides of his cock, making him shiver with something between laughter and pleasure. He didn’t want this to be over too soon, after all.

 

His free hand rubbed and pinched at his nipples, sending sharp spikes of pleasure straight to his cock, and he didn’t even bother to try to hide his sounds of pleasure at the sparkling sensations that cascaded through him. He stared at the mirrors above him, watching the Black Panther watching him, but he quickly gave in to his curiosity and turned his head, his body stretching out languidly as he did so.  Silver eyes gleamed at him, and T’challa made a noise that was caught somewhere between a growl and a snarl.  It sent a bolt of almost-fear through Sam, and he huffed out a breathless laugh, his hand tightening around himself almost without thought.

 

Knowing that he wasn’t going to last long given the stress of the last few days – he was wound up tighter than a Jack-in-the-Box – Sam managed to squeeze out some lube onto his fingers, a familiar scent filling the air. He rubbed it curiously between his fingers for a moment, trying to place it, but a satisfied rumble jolted his memory.  It smelled like T’challa did, like a forest, like wild things that hunted in the night.  It was dark and secretive and earthy, and Sam growled back as he wrapped his now-slick hand around his cock, all but whining at the smooth glide it provided.  It seemed that armor and weapons weren’t the only things Wakanda was more advanced in.

 

If he’d been less tired, had more time, perhaps he would have taken it more slowly, maybe even opened himself up a little bit, tried to see if he couldn’t coax T’challa to move from the chair and come touch him. But as it was, he just gripped himself tighter, using his other hand to tease and pinch at his nipples – they were actually surprisingly sensitive – and stroking downwards, stopping just shy of his balls before moving up again, making T’challa growl.  Not so uninterested after all, huh?

 

Sam grinned over at the other man. “Come over here and I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised.

 

T’challa seemed to consider it for a moment, those silver eyes thinning into slits, but then he stood, stalking towards him. It was only a few steps, but damn did he make those steps count, his gaze never wavering as he prowled forward, a low growl trickling continuously from his throat and his claws flexing restlessly by his side.  Sam wondered how those claws would feel against his skin, leaving scratches down his back and sides.  “Oh!” he breathed, realizing that he was dangerously close to coming already, just from picturing it.

 

T’challa was standing over him now, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the bed as he stared down at Sam impassively. Above them, the mirrors showed an almost surreal sight; the predator standing over its helpless prey, ready to pounce.  T’challa’s shoulders were hunched, his head bowed over Sam’s vulnerable stomach.  Sam’s eyes widened, his hand moving faster now, adding a twist at the end as he raced to the finish.

 

“And what, exactly, do you intend to do now that you have me?” T’challa asked, curiosity and amusement in his voice. Slowly, he reached up and removed the mask, warm brown eyes gazing down at him.

 

And there it was, the final piece that Sam had been looking for. The Black Panther and King T’challa, the same person, dangerous and honorable and kind, with a sense of understated humor that suited Sam just fine and a way of knowing just what he needed, even without him saying anything at all.

 

He kept his eyes wide open as he came, staring back at T’challa, the mirrors all but forgotten already. He shuddered through the aftermath, his hand still moving almost languidly until he was too sensitized to continue.

 

Panting, he looked up at T’challa. “Come to bed with me?” he asked.

 

The King didn’t even stop to consider, just stripped off his uniform and set it nearby, in the chair he’d been seated on earlier, before yanking off the comforter and dropping it to the floor as well. He maneuvered them both under the red satin sheets – red, really? – and settled on his side, his right arm propping up his head so he could gaze warmly down at Sam.  “You have not answered my question,” he reminded softly.

 

Sam grinned, reaching up and tugging T’challa down into a kiss before turning just enough to breathe in the other man’s ear. “I promise to never tell anyone that the Black Panther is a voyeur,” he whispered.

 

T’challa’s laughing rumble filled the room, and Sam smiled.


End file.
